Our week-long body-image extravaganza on The Outlier Collective concludes with Helen of Mother Made, who muses over the the banality of cellulite and our power to see ourselves however the fuck we want.
Please join us HERE.
Today is the first of a 7-day series on body image and body acceptance at The Outlier Collective. Goldfish starts us off with a deeply moving and honest post about her struggles with her looks, and all of the huge hurdles she has overcome. I admire her candidness as well as her tenacity.
Hey you. Yeah, you, the douche with the stupid facial hair and the cliché barbed-wire tattoo and the “No Fat Chicks” t-shirt. And you teenage girls with the bitch faces sneering at the overweight girl in your class. And you, chain-smoking fashion editor who’s asking the photo retoucher to make that size 0 model look a little thinner. Oh, and I haven’t forgotten you, evil Internet troll who makes vicious, sick comments about how fat people should die.
You’re all deplorable imitations of human beings. All of you. Who are you to judge? What makes you such experts on beauty? Or experts on ANYTHING, for that matter?
When did it become socially acceptable to discriminate and openly hate because someone is heavy? I must not have received that email. And spare me your pathetic justification that “fat is unhealthy.” As if you really give a shit about anyone’s health. And spare me the argument that obesity will jack up your healthcare bill. That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard. As if obesity is the sole cause of illness, and as if people with “healthy” BMI have no unhealthy habits.
I am overweight. Fat, even. And you know what? I have just as much right to walk down the street as you do, dickwads. Being overweight—by 5 pounds or 100 pounds—is not a crime. If it offends you that much, then you’re one with the problem. You find me unattractive because I’m fat? Fine, you’re entitled to your opinion there. I might find someone unattractive because they have a stupid haircut or an annoying voice or whatever. I don’t spend time wishing them dead because of it. Reassess your priorities, motherfuckers.
You don’t care that we might be great people. We might be wonderful friends, excellent parents, talented, creative, kind, funny, interesting individuals. But who cares about that? We have committed the mortal sin of not conforming to your aesthetic sense because of our size. Do you have any idea how STUPID that is??
The first time I was targeted because of my weight was when I was about 5 or 6 years old, at summer camp. I wasn’t even fat then, just a little plumper than the other kids my age. I was also about a foot taller than the other kids my age but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I wasn’t skinny like the other girls. So I learned very early about how cruel you can be. And it was all downhill from there. I’ve heard probably every comment an overweight person can hear. Nothing you people do surprises me anymore. Even the scumbag woman on the bus who shoved me and said, “Out of my way, fat bitch.”
It would be impossible for me to sufficiently describe how vile and contemptible I think you fat shamers are; there simply isn’t enough server space in the world to hold all those words. You sicken me with your vitriol and your smug holier-than-thou attitudes. You, who have so, so many fatal flaws, think you’re entitled to point fingers at us?? Fuck you. Our weight is NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS. Take your hatred and your shaming and shove it up your asses. Better yet, choke on it. You are uglier than any overweight person could ever be.
Ahhhhh, that felt good! I wrote this to kick off a very special week that starts tomorrow at The Outlier Collective. Tune in for a full week of bloggers writing about issues relating to body image, body acceptance, fat shaming, etc. As you can imagine, these are issues near and dear to my heart, hips and thighs, and I’m so happy to have seven wonderful women sharing their perspectives. Please join us!
For last year’s 4th of July, I wrote Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address as it might have been done by Dr. Seuss. This year, I’ve created a new poem à la Seuss—the Declaration of Independence, modeled on that great American classic, Green Eggs and Ham:
We don’t like you, no sirree
We do not like your tyranny
Colonists are people too
We want our rights, you bet we do
To life and liberty, gracious, yes!
Pursuit of basic happiness!
And so we have to break our bond
With all our friends across the pond
Could we, should we, tell you why?
Before we say our last goodbye?
You taxed our tea, you taxed our crumpets
You even taxed our ploofs and flumpets!
We do not want to quarter troops
We do not like your army groups
We’re subject to your silly laws
And thrown in jail with no real cause
Why have you ignored our plea?
We simply want to be more free!
Would you, could you, let us be?
We ask you nicely, you don’t care
It isn’t right, it isn’t fair!
So with this fancy declaration
We’re separate now, a whole new nation
We’re free now from your tyranny
See you later, King George Three!
‘Twas eighty and seven years past, so they say
That our founders created the US of A
With all of us equal! The Wuggles! The Fuzzins!
And even our naughty Confederate cousins!
Now there’s a war and it’s bad and it’s sad
But a time will soon come when we’ll all be quite glad
That our nation still stands and our country’s still here
And we’ll all drink a toast with a mug of Sneetch beer
These bravest of soldiers did not die for naught
We need a do-over to do what we ought
So let’s have no more of this Civil War folly
And remember our government’s purpose, by golly
Of people! By people! For people! Yes!
Right now this country’s one heckuva mess
I want for this country a sort of rebirth
So all these nice freedoms don’t perish from Earth.
Sorry, no raindrops on roses in this joint (but plenty of whiskers on kittens, thanks to the three Weeblettes).
I was looking around my house the other day and I thought, You have a lot of really weird shit, Weebs.
It’s true, I have a lot of really weird shit. Eclectic, you might say. A lot of strange objects that I’m rather fond of. Let’s take a tour, I’ll show you around.
First, we’ll visit the infirmary to see my beloved collection of smallpox-related antiques. I’ve been obsessed with smallpox for years. In fact, my doctoral dissertation (which I didn’t finish, otherwise I’d be Doctor Weebles) was on smallpox inoculations in 18th-century America. There are many mighty diseases that have plagued humanity for centuries: tuberculosis, bubonic plague, yellow fever, etc, but I find smallpox the most compelling. As pathogens go, this one is brutal as fuck. Kill rates during epidemics ranged from 30% to 50%. In many parts of the world, children weren’t even considered official members of the family until they had contracted and survived smallpox. That’s some sick shit, yo. And smallpox is the only disease to be completely eradicated (although polio is on its way to extinction as well). It exists only in the labs now (and hopefully will not return in weaponized format, or any other format).
In case you’re wondering how lancets, fleams, and scalpels treated smallpox, these little beauties were used to create wounds through which the smallpox matter (or cowpox matter, later on) was introduced. The scarificator is a neat little device with several small blades on the bottom to create multiple wounds at once. All of these tools were used for bloodletting as well. It was thought that many illnesses were caused by an overabundance of blood, so doctors would bleed patients to drain the “excess.” Shockingly, this charming practice hurt many more people than it helped.
Let’s move on to the Teeny Tiny Chamber of Horrors. Please note that Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy are here only for scale, not for punishment. They learned their lesson after last time.
We’re going to make a right turn here, onto Sesame Street:
Aside from Oscar the Grouch, The Count is my favorite Sesame Street character. What better way to honor him than to build a shrine that includes toys made in his likeness? Please take a moment for quiet reflection here if you like.
Around the corner from Sesame Street is the Museum of Wacky Old Items. These objects are late 18th century to early 19th century.
The folding knife, called a “penny knife” because that’s how much it cost, is the kind carried by soldiers during the American Revolution. This one is in pretty good shape but who knows, maybe it was used by a smokin’ hot guy in the Continental Army. It titillates me to contemplate this. The bullet probe determined the depth of a bullet wound. Fat load of good it did, though; it was a lot more common to die from nasty, infected bullet wounds than to be killed outright by bullets. The blistering iron did exactly what you’d expect: you held it over a fire to get it nice and hot, then seared the skin with it to cause a blister. You know that philosophy behind bloodletting? Yeah, well, blistering was another method of relieving people of the bad “humors” that caused disease. In theory, the blister would draw all the ick (that’s the official medical term for it, by the way) from the person, and when the blister drained, presto, disease all gone. But guess what? Yup. Didn’t work. In fact, you know who died after being severely weakened by copious bloodletting and blistering? George Washington. Poor bastard was already very sick, and the “medical” treatment finished him off.
And finally, let’s visit the farm and say hello to my stuffed animals. Not the taxidermy kind, either. I know, I know, you’re thinking, “Weebs has stuffed animals???” Yes. Yes I do. Allow me to introduce you to some of my plush friends:
Mr. Weebles is concerned about my penchant for buying giant stuffed toys because they take up a lot of space. I tell him I can stop anytime I want to. (I just don’t want to.)
And this concludes our tour for today. Thank you for joining me, I hope you’ve all enjoyed it as much as I have. Please be sure to gather all your belongings, watch your step as you disembark, and get home safely.